


The embrace

by orphan_account



Series: "Having fun with blood" and 1,000 other things to do when you're mad [3]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fear of Death, Feeding, Implied Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A short fic taking place right before the beginning of the game, starring the character from this series main fic.How the malkavian fledgling met her sire, why he chose her, and so on.





	The embrace

She usually wasn’t pretty enough to pick up guys randomly, but tonight she was lucky. The club was jumping, music pounding her ears, her stomach was filled with sugary drinks and nothing else.  
He asked her name. She asked his.  
Sire, apparently. At least he picked a cool fake name. She was too drunk to come up with anything, so she asked him to name her, and he did.  
“You’ll be Sunny tonight.”  
“Cute. Why?”  
“Because you’re warm and you’re gonna kill me in the morning.”  
“What are you, a vampire?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You drunk enough to get out of here?”  
“Absolutely.”

They just clicked. Sire and Sunny, lunatics on the same wavelength. He told her at great lengths about the end of the world in the taxi, and when they got to his apartment, he carried her through the door, like it was their wedding night.  
She was still making up her mind about killing him, and she had the strangest feeling that he was thinking about the same.

“You’ve done horrible things, little morsel.”  
“You mean I’ve been a bad girl?”  
“Oh, yes. You’ve killed before.”  
She tensed. He noticed.  
“Don’t worry. Police don’t come here. My haven is a place of unabashed confession, and tonight, you’re in the spotlight. Tell me secrets, lick. Tell me tales.”  
He had given her a beer, but she hadn’t even opened it. Was she too drunk to defend herself if he tried anything? Was he planning, like her, to kill and consume the night away? Which of them was the predator?  
He smiled so widely the corners of his mouth threatened to break out of his face.  
“No, no, no fear. Tch tch tch. Tell me about the people in your cellar; men, women, children and elderly. Tell me about their hands.”  
He knew. Somehow, he knew who she was and what she had done. Pearls of sweat rolled over her brows.  
Their hands… He had no shirt on and no wire, as far as she could tell. Maybe this was a safe haven after all.  
“Their hands?”  
“Yes. Please.”  
He slid out of his chair and shuffled on his knees over to hers, resting his head in her lap, and she noticed how cold he was. He was looking up at her like a puppy.

“I tried to get in from the fingertips, but it didn’t work.”  
“Oh?”  
“No. Turns out, your bones aren’t just slopping around in your body, they’re connected to the muscles. I had to cut the fingers from top to bottom to get them out.  
“Oh…”  
“Broke them first. Just to make it easier.”  
“Did they scream?”  
“They screamed.”  
“Was it good?”  
“… Yes.”

Sire’s eyes twinkled happily behind his glasses. His abnormally sharp tongue regularly flitted out to lick his lips. He was a snake in man’s clothing, she realized, and whatever she could tell him he had probably seen first-hand. There was an understanding between them; two killers, indulging their primitive desires for a night. Maybe they would both leave alive.  
Maybe neither of them would.

“I never kept the bones. Trophies are for assholes.”  
“What did you keep?”  
“Memories.”  
“Delicious. Tell me of the unfolded woman.”  
He had been staying in this place so long he was starting to resemble it. His skin had the same grey, unhealthy colour of his bathroom walls, and his hair was a neutral, muddy brown, like all his furniture. It was just long enough to fit into a bunch of little ponytails that stood up from his scalp like dirty palm trees. He had watery grey eyes that were partially concealed by a pair of yellow tinted glasses, the kind skiers wear to shield their eyes from the blinding snow, and he had revealed a set of spiky, dirty teeth behind that abnormally wide mouth. He would have looked perfectly normal with a bit of effort.  
“She was an experiment. I don’t like the precision, I don’t like holding back, but I figured I would try. With her.”  
“Was she beautiful?”  
“Does the pope wear a funny hat?”  
“Hm…”  
“That means yes. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I made her fall asleep first, so she wouldn’t be scared, and then I…”  
“Unfolded her, duckling. From the shoulders to the navel. A flawless, white, origami swan, she was.”  
“You seem to know this already.”  
“I can only see what you show me. When you relive the memories, so do I. I think I’m in love with you, Sunny.”  
“The feeling isn’t mutual.”  
“Not yet.”  
  
She didn’t protest when his hands went up her knees, even though they were as cold as ice. The tips of his slender, feminine fingers trailed across her jeans, leaving frost in their wake, all the way up to her hips. He pushed his thumbs into her waistline and she realized she couldn’t have stopped him if she tried.  
She saw a hunger in his eyes. Not lust, for her body or her stories, but a deep-set and instinctive need of something for survival. He looked at her like she looked at her victims; like they were going to be the thing that filled the emptiness. The missing link that made all the puzzle pieces suddenly fit and repaired the world. The sour taste of fear was rising in her throat when he climbed into the chair with her and sat heavily on her lap.  
“You’ll kill me,” he told her, “but you’re forgiven. I’m not afraid of the leap. Are you?”  
She found she couldn’t lie to him. He had some kind of power, a shine in his eyes that put road blocks in her brain, so she could only do what he wanted.  
“Yes.” She answered truthfully. He slid a hand through her silky hair and pulled a couple of curly locks over her shoulder.

She was completely paralyzed in his grip. He raked his fingernails over her skin, down her chest and under her shirt, scraping red lines across her abdomen until she wanted to scream. When he broke eye contact to kiss her neck she could feel his mystical power waver a little, but not enough to break free. There was a callous disinterest in the way he touched her. His fingers were the drum roll to whatever he had planned. Fear, anger and humiliation were filling her body to bursting.  
Then his jaw snapped around her throat and a blessed silence filled her soul.

It was good.  
His tongue left a snail trail of saliva on her neck as he lapped up her blood, but where disgust has been, there was only acceptance now. She hadn’t cried since she was little, and yet big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks and started dripping from her jaw now.  
It was good.  
And then it wasn’t.  
Her heart beat furiously, like it was trying to make up for the future she would never have. Days, weeks, years of her life were being sucked out of her by this humanoid leech. With every groan of pleasure he let rumble against her skin, more time disappeared, until the noose was tightening and she knew she was going to die.  
She had run from the law because of this. She wasn’t afraid of jail, she had no façade worth protecting or stuff she wanted to keep, but the cops had guns and they hated her a lot. After what they found in her basement, who would blame a police officer from shooting her on sight? It was against protocol, but not against decency.  
Now she had run straight into a different death. A fly in his spider web. She was going to die, she knew it for a fact, and yet her stupid, human body kept fighting. Her heart kept pumping blood right into his mouth.  
The edges of her vision were becoming blurry and spotted with black. Soon, she knew, she would go to hell for what she had done.  
In her last moments, she felt guilt. For her victims, for their families, for the countless frantic heartbeats she had ended. She saw a father begging for his daughter. A dead man on a train station.

Then Sire pulled his fangs back and brought them onto his own wrist. Thick, cold, precious blood flowed from him and into her.  
  
“I want to show you something…”


End file.
